


Go Your Own Way

by Late4f8



Category: Saiyuki
Genre: Alternate Universe, Community: weissvsaiyuki, Gen, Hitchhiking, Recreational Drug Use, Seventies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-02
Updated: 2015-06-07
Packaged: 2017-12-31 07:36:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1029011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Late4f8/pseuds/Late4f8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU - HItchhiking in the seventies, where everyone's just trying to get where they belong.<br/>(added the other chapter)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For the WeissvSaiyuki Comm. challenge Week 2. Warnings for Seventies references. Maybe a series of oneshots.

* * * * *

Joe ran up to the beat-up orange van he'd managed to flag down. The driver looked to be near his own age, and did not look like some of the perverts Joe had come to expect on the road. The Sixties had been over for years, but a lot of old men were still trying to dish into some free love. Joe had punched and bailed enough vehicles, that he'd stopped being afraid of the road rushing up to greet him.

Joe squished himself and his bag into the seat; and without a word, the blond-haired dude stepped on the gas.

As the miles passed, and Joe realized the guy wasn't going to say anything, he took it upon himself to drop his bag behind the seat. The van interior was covered in gold shag carpet, with a single-sized bed in back. It looked comfy.

"Nice digs."

Blondie glanced at him and then reached in his pocket for cigarettes. He angled the pack over to Joe.

"Thanks, man." Joe pulled one out and dug out his lighter. "And thanks for the ride, too." He lit his smoke, and held the flame out so the guy could light up.

"You looked familiar."

"Yeah?" Joe gave the guy another look. His sky-blue jumpsuit fit snug in all the right places, and he had it unzipped at the chest, but that blond head of hair... Joe couldn't help himself. "Is your name Fred? Cuz you look kinda like that Scooby-Doo guy." He grinned.

"You're a lame-ass" Blondie blew out a thin stream of smoke. "Don't make me sorry I picked you up. It's Steve."

"Got it, Stevie-o. Call me Joe."

Steve gave him a side-eyed glance. "Hmph. Maybe I'll call you Daphne."

"What the -" Joe stopped and snorted. "You did not just call me a chick."

"Your hair -"

"Leave my hair out of it, man."

Steve finished his cigarette and threw the butt out the window. "Hn. Maybe we shouldn't talk."

Joe shrugged. "I'm cool with it. Long as we keep flyin'."

And they looked at each other, and nodded, and they flew.

* * * * *

At a truck stop, in the evening, Steve pulled over to eat and rest. He did not offer to share his mattress.

Joe sat on the floor beside the mattress, and in the dim light of a battery operated lantern, he rolled a tight joint.

Steve watched him from over his half-eaten can of Beanie-Weenies.

Joe held it up and smiled proudly. "A thing of beauty." He lit it up and it crackled and popped as he took a long draw from it. He held it out to Steve, and Steve traded him the can of food and took the spliff. He sucked in a lungful of pungent smoke and held his breath and watched as Joe devoured the remaining beans. They smoked in silence.

When their buzz had taken full effect, and they lay in the van staring up through the open moon-roof, Steve finally spoke to him again.

"I'm turning North in the morning."

"Yeah? What's up there?"

"Nn. Jersey. Some cherry trees."

Joe turned his head to look at him. "That sounds..."

Steve turned to face him. "Sounds what," he said.

"Eh, I dunno. Sounds... familiar? I guess?" Joe turned and looked back up at the sky. "Just some cherry trees, huh?"

Steve shook his head and sat up to grab his cigarettes. "A whole garden of cherry trees." He lit his cigarette.

"I'm going South." Joe held out his hand for the cigarette, took a drag and handed it back. "Something's there. I can feel it getting closer every day."

"Yeah." Sanzo sighed heavily. "A calling - _let's meet under the cherry trees_ \- but it's not." He smoked his cigarette.

Joe rolled over. "Man. That does sound familiar. Huh." He held out his hand and waited. "How do you know it's Jersey and not some other cherry-place?"

"Tch. How do you know you should go South?" He handed off the cigarette.

"Shit, don't get pissy." Joe smoked quietly for a moment and Steve finally lit another cigarette to replace the one Joe hadn't returned.

"Cherry trees," Joe finally said.

Steve just looked at him and smoked.

"Maybe when I'm done down there... maybe I'll go to Jersey and check'em out."

"Don't expect me to give you a ride."

"What the hell, man? You're kind of prickly, you know?"

"I'm just saying you have to find your own way. And tomorrow you can buy your own cigarettes."

Joe wrinkled his brow. "Maybe we should go back to not talking. I like you better that way."

"Tch. That's my line."

And they smoked, and they slept.

In a foggy grey morning, Steve woke and found himself alone in the van. And if he thought he heard another voice whispering about cherry trees sometime during the night, well, it didn't change anything for him, and he kept going.

 

* * * *


	2. Chapter 2

Joe eyed the green station wagon with trepidation. It's faux wood paneling had peeled away in sections, and the rear window looked as if only rust were holding the one corner into place. But when he walked up alongside the passenger door, the guy inside looked harmless enough, even if his shirt looked like someone had drawn Spirographs in finger-paint all over it.

"Hey there." Joe smiled, ignoring the obnoxious shirt, and climbed in.

"I'm Henry." The man smiled back and turned and pulled back onto the highway.

"You gave that fast. You sure that's your real name?" Joe gave a more thorough look over Henry's dark, shaggy hair, and sharp profile. 

Henry blinked, and then laughed softly. "Of course. Why would anyone need more than one name?"

"Heh! Yeah, I guess." Joe shook his head. "You just said your name so quick, like an alias, or super-secret-spy-thing."

"Ah! I'm not on the run or a wanted man right now. I'm fairly certain that gentleman that I shot lived through the experience."

"You, uh, you shot -"

"In the foot." Henry pursed his lips in a smile. "I assure you he deserved it."

Joe considered that, and then shrugged. "Eh, well, I've met my share of assholes who deserve a bullet."

Henry nodded. "It's always nice to meet someone who agrees."

Joe nodded and reached for his cigarettes, and hesitated. The guy's ashtray was dirty, but empty. "Mind if I smoke?"

Henry wrinkled his nose. "Hm. I just quit a few months ago." And then he gave an immense sigh. "But I suppose you've forced my hand - if you have one to share."

Joe went from disappointment to camaraderie, and whipped out his pack. "I've got you covered." And he lit both their cigarettes.

Henry turned on the radio, and gestured that Joe should find something to listen to. He dialed around and settled on a rock n' roll station fuzzing in and out.

"Ah, the sounds of Pink Floyd. I believe that's their new record."

"Pigs," Joe said.

"No, it's Animals. Pigs is the song."

"Three different ones," Joe added.

Henry took a thoughtful drag from his cigarette. "And which pig might you be?"

"I'm a dog." Joe grinned and bared his teeth. "Totally a dog."

Henry laughed. "Well, you look scruffy enough."

Joe winced and smoked a little harder. "Eh, sorry. Haven't seen a bath in a week with all this hitchin'."

"Mm. Perhaps we can amend that when we stop at a hotel for the evening."

"Sounds damn good." Joe rolled down the window and flicked his cigarette butt out.

"I have an ashtray right here." Henry mashed out his own cigarette.

"Um, okay." He rolled the window back up and reached over to retune the static onto a Queen song. "So, which animal are you?"

"Oh, I've always thought I might be a sheep. Most people are."

Joe tsked. "You shot someone, man. I'd think you're more like a dog disguised as a sheep."

"True." Henry turned on his blinker. "Do you mind stopping for some food and a stretch?"

"Sure thing. I hope they sell smokes nearby."

"Good. We'll check." Henry took the off-ramp, and half a mile up the road pulled into a Denny's. "We'll stop for gas and smokes over there." He pointed across the street as they both climbed out of the station wagon.

After they'd sat, and placed their order, and been brought coffee, Henry spoke again. "Perhaps we're not dogs at all. Maybe we're all pigs; in that - haha, charade you are - sort of way," he intoned.

Joe sipped at his coffee and set it down. "You're still thinking about that?"

"Well, if one is going to define themselves philosophically, one should get it right. Don't you think?"

Joe shrugged, and then smiled slowly. "You're something."

Henry smiled in return. He raised his own cup of coffee. "I don't usually believe in fate and such, and please don't take this wrongly, but I feel a certain connection. You're very easy to talk to."

Joe ducked his head and then turned to look out the window. "Yeah. I get it."

And then Henry started in on the merits of how to brew a good coffee and Joe listened, and when their food came, they ate, and when they were back in the station wagon and across the street, Henry bought snacks, and Joe bought cigarettes, and then they settled back into the car.

Henry started the engine. "I'm glad I had enough to fill up here. We might not see another gas station for miles on these backroads."

Joe stopped unwrapping the cellophane from his cigarette pack. "What do you mean?"

"Hm?" Henry stopped backing out.

"Aren't you getting back on the highway?" Joe sat up in alarm.

"No?" Henry's eyebrows raised high. "This was a detour. There was some construction. I'm traveling West."

They stared at each other, until finally Joe stammered, "I'm going East, er, Southeast, sorta."

Henry blinked once, and twice. "Oh. I see."

"Shit." Joe rubbed his forehead and looked down at the pack in his hand. He grimaced and ripped it the rest of the way open and pulled out a cigarette. "Want one?" He waved the pack.

"Yes."

Joe withdrew another stick and lit them both up. He handed one over. They sat in the car, parked halfway in the parking space, and smoked quietly.

Henry spoke first. "You're visiting family?"

Joe shook his head. "Nah. It's -" He sucked hard on his cigarette and sighed it out. "I just felt something pulling me this way, you know? So soon as I had the chance, I ran with it. I need to find out what it is." He sighed again. "It sounds stupid."

Henry took a careful drag of his smoke and blew it out. "No. I understand perfectly. It's why I'm on the road, too." He looked at Joe and smiled faintly. "Perhaps that is why we've felt a connection. We're both chasing after something."

"Yeah. Maybe." Joe sighed again. "And... we can't keep it waiting on us." He opened the door, and reached in the back and slung his bag out to the pavement. He climbed out, dropped the open pack of smokes on the seat and shut the door. "I appreciate the ride. And the meal." He draped his arms across the outside of the window and leaned in a bit. "You're a cool guy."

Henry smiled. "I like you, too."

Joe blushed a bit and stood straight. "Right. Well -"

"I'm sorry," Henry interrupted. "Please tell me your name."

"It's Joe." He ducked to look back in the window.

Henry held out his hand and Joe reached in and grabbed it.

"I wish you good things. And perhaps we'll meet again." Henry didn't let go as he suddenly laughed and squeezed Joe's hand. "In a retirement home far from where we thought we'd end up."

"Heh, yeah. Yeah - wait." Joe bit his lip, then blurted out, "Jersey. I'm going there someday to see the cherry trees."

Henry gave him a strange look, and Joe felt self-conscious enough to try to pull his hand away. When that didn't work, he tried to explain. "Ah, it's not like I'm just hitchin' around life doin' nothing. There's other places to go, too." He looked out the window past Henry and their still-joined hands. "Not that I care what anyone thinks or anything," he mumbled.

"It sounds - good." Henry tightened his grip and looked intently at him. "Under the cherry trees then." And Joe felt Henry's hand tremble just before he pulled it away and put the car in gear. He waved a little and he turned onto the two-lane road and he was gone.

Joe grabbed his bag. He walked up the road, onto the on-ramp, and walked a mile, shaking his head, and muttering to himself the whole time about how strange life could be, when a truck finally pulled over and offered him a ride in the back.

Joe threw his bag over the side of the bed and hopped in. The window slid open and an old man yelled that he could drop him at the next exit. Joe nodded, and the window closed and they rolled onto the road. 

Joe was a hundred miles away from the little two-lane road, when he finally admitted to himself that he'd possibly just left behind what he'd been looking for. He pulled his bag closer to his hip and dug out the other pack of cigarettes and lit one. He had plenty of time to plan a trip North.

 

* * * *


End file.
